The Two Worst Words In The English Language
by The Pendragon's Realm
Summary: Draco muses over the two worst words in the English language: if only.


**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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_ To my Harry, in the hope that you will see, and to the one who opened my eyes _

It's funny how one little thing can have such a huge impact on the rest of your life; you do something without giving it any real thought and suddenly any chance you might have of getting to know someone better has disappeared faster than ice cream on a sunny day. I meant well, I had good intentions but he either couldn't or wouldn't see them and a possible friendship was lost.

I had spent far too long musing over that one moment, taking it to pieces and analysing it carefully. I had tried every possible alternative in my head, worked out hundreds of other endings but what was done was done and there was no way of undoing it or taking it back. Foresight is an amazing thing, but unfortunately not something the majority of us are blessed with. I had lost count of the nights I had spent tossing in my bed my mind whirling with the two worst words in the English language: if only. If only I'd not said x, if only I'd not done y, if only I could go back and undo it, if only he wasn't him, if only I wasn't me, if only, if only, if only... A man could kill himself because of if only and I had never before understood that as well as I did now.

You start off on the wrong foot and naturally things seem to only get worse from then on. That was pretty much how it was between us. All too soon the lines had been drawn and the war began with him on one side and me on the other. The last thing I wanted to do was fight with him, but it seemed out of my control. Any chance of rational conversation was lost and some how all words spoken to each other were filled with a passion totally unlike the one I really wanted them to be filled with. But it took me some time to figure that out.

We had spent so long at loggerheads, every day filled with the barbs and taunts we threw at each other, that it was automatic now; the very sight of him across the room and within minutes I was on my feet to smirk and snarl some derogatory comment to him. At what point did it all change? When did I start seeking any response from him just to be in contact with him? When did I fall in love?

He had always been there, right from the beginning he had been a part of my life. Slowly, without my realising it, there was a subtle shift in the contact I wanted from him. The times that I saw him and his gaze just passed over me began to hurt. I started to find some excuse, any excuse to talk to him, to be near him. I studied how his face lit up when he saw his friends and I wanted that response when he saw me, instead of the narrowed glare I usually got. I craved his attention, I wanted him to notice me, to really see me. Just once, I wanted him to look at me, to see the look in my eyes that showed exactly how I felt about him and to see that look reflected back at me from his. Yet I knew, deep down, that there was no chance of it. He would never look at me that way and never think about me like that, he had other things that were much more important to him than I was.

But would a partnership such as ours even work? We were too similar and yet, we were so completely different. Stubborness, intelligence, and a desire to make a difference were traits we shared, yet while he shunned the limelight, I gloried in it. He was quiet and gentle, I was loud and dramatic. He was the brave Gryffindor lion and I was the cunning Slytherin serpent.

I could see him now as I mused, see him sitting at his usual position surrounded by friends and admirers and general hangers on. I desired so much to be a part of his inner circle, to sit at his side and have people know that I was special to him, have them know that he had chosen me against all others. My heart swelled just a little at the mere sight of him, willing him to look up and see me. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I found myself wondering, did I love him because he was _Harry_, or just because he was Harry? I wasn't sure it made any difference. The fact of the matter was that I loved him and I wanted him to know. But he was Harry Potter, and I was Draco Malfoy and a little incident many moons ago had determined the ways we would react to each other. And I hated him for it.


End file.
